Too Early Gone
by KathrynWoodfurrow
Summary: Martin the warrior revisits his life and contemplates the future as he is dying.
1. The Dream

Too Early Gone  
  
Chapter One: The Dream  
  
He had a dream. In that dream, many creatures he had known visited him. The face of his grandmother was smiling down at him, lifting his spirits. Beside her stood a female mouse, one he could not remember. But he knew her. Her name was whispered in his ear like a song.  
  
Sayna.  
  
His mother was smiling as well, her bright eyes lifted by the sight of her full-grown son. He saw others too: Timballisto, Felldoh, Abbess Germaine who had died some seasons prior. He saw Boar the Fighter, his best friend Gonff, his own ancestor Martin who he was named for, and countless others. All of those he knew on the north shores, at Marshank, and Mossflower woods seemed to find their way into his dream. Even Brome and Pallum from Noonvale were there to wave at him. Only two were missing. Martin the warrior's heart grieved for the faces of his father Luke, and the mousemaid Rose.  
  
"Martin." Martin's heart leapt to his throat as he felt the paw on his shoulder. A strong paw that knew the feeling of a sword against vermin throats.  
  
"Father." he breathed more then said. Closing his eyes, he reveled in the contact he had with his long-dead father.  
  
"You have done well, my son. I am proud of you."  
  
Martin felt the tears coursing down his cheeks.  
  
"I was not there for you. The day you met your end on the red ship. I know that you were waiting for me there. I failed you." he replied.  
  
"Had you been there for me, you would not have found your way to Marshank, or Mossflower. So many others have lived because I did not. There is no failure in that. The warrior's path is not an easy one." the voice of Luke comforted.  
  
Martin's mind drifted to the image of the mousemaid who had failed to appear in his dream. He saw for the thousandth time her body being thrown like a rag. And he saw her life slipping through his hands.  
  
"I know."  
  
With a sigh, Martin lifted his paw to lay it on top of his father's.  
  
"How much time do I have, father?" he questioned, his voice almost pleading.  
  
"Not enough."  
  
With that last word, the dream disappeared, along with his father, mother, and friends of old. 


	2. Redwall

Chapter Two:  
  
Redwall, to Martin's seasoned eye, was the most beautiful place in the world. It was the only place he had ever been, other than Noonvale, where creatures of all sorts could live in peace together. Existing for the happiness of day-to-day life. Redwallers farmed the land, taught the young, aided the elderly, gave sanctuary to weary travelers, and built for the future. They never took what they had for granted, nor did they question what was given them. Kotir and the fortress of the wildcats was gone, and in its place stood a place of such simplicity and generosity that Martin could not question why his warrior's blood had finally thinned and chosen to settle here.  
  
He could recall it now, the day he had come to Mossflower Woods. More had driven him then his questing nature. It was almost as though he had seen the place in a dream. At least, that was how he felt the day he first set eyes on the edge of the woods. And he knew that something extraordinary would happen there. And so something had. Martin had taken up his father's sword once more and helped to liberate the creatures who lived under the tooth and claw of Tsarmina of the Thousand Eyes. Oh the sheer joy he had felt when Abbess Germaine and the inhabitants of Mossflower had been able to realize their dream of building a home for all creatures, great and small.  
  
Martin shook off the memory and tried to bring himself back to present day. More and more often he had been losing himself in the past, despite his own attempts to forget it all. But that was the problem. When he was some seasons younger, after his battle with the wildcat, he had suffered an injury that caused his memory to be affected. But, it seemed that with age he had begun to remember it all again.  
  
Glancing out towards the Abbey pond from the front steps of the Great Hall, two young creatures caught his eye. One of them, a young otter, was playing with a Dibbun mole. Martin's lips curved into a smile as he recalled his youth on the north shores with his long-passed friend Timballisto. The mouse had been some seasons older then him, but it did not matter. Still they had played together as youth, and defended their home against invaders when the need arose. However, not even the two combined could stop Badrang from finding his way to their tribe.  
  
Martin blinked back the tears as he saw in his mind the image of Windred chained next to him in the middle of slaves. The old mousewife had fought her hardest to survive among the wretched and cursed ranks bound for what was to be Marshank. Sometimes, Martin thanked the heavens that the old mouse had perished during the long march. Had she lived, she would have been forced into building the stoat's fortress. And that would have caused a far more painful death then the one she suffered at the hand of a fever.  
  
Once again, Martin tried to draw his attention back to the present. But it was to no avail. His failing eyesight landed on the son of his best friend Gonff's son. The mouse was young. Not the warrior type, no. He was far more like his grandfather. A musical thief. The child was cheekily flirting with a mouse maiden named Purdy. And like a good girl, she laughed appropriately at all his antics and batted her long eyelashes at him. An image flashed in Martin's mind of another young mouse and maiden. With a sigh, Martin started back inside. Yes, it still hurt to think of her. She had saved his life more times then he cared to count, and he could not save hers when it counted.  
  
Angry with himself, the old warrior deliberately turned his thoughts back to Gonff and their happy days together. How often they had laughed and played, even in the darker days. He could still so clearly recall the time when he and Gonff were in Kotir's dungeons and the only thing the Prince of Mousethieves did was play his songs and talk of Goody Stickle. Martin laughed, as he thought of the fretful hogwife. Goody had been more of a mother to Martin then any he could ever remember. She had loved him without boundary and when Martin did something he should not have, like stealing pasties from the kitchen, it was Goody Stickle who whacked his paw with a ladle and sent him to dish duty.  
  
Pausing in the middle of the Great Hall, Martin leaned up against the cold stone of the bare wall. He began to think of something new. Something different than the past. He recalled the time his father had handed him the great sword and told him that perhaps he would one day pass it along to his own son. But Martin felt heavy hearted as he thought, 'No, I have no son or daughter nor any other in this world to pass my sword to.' Without warning, his vision clouded and he began to see things that should not have been there. He saw warriors, male and female, squirrel, mouse, hedgehog, mole, badger, hare, and countless others standing before him, smiling as if they knew him. Names flashed through his mind. Samkin, Mariel, Arven, Mattimeo, Dandin, Dannflor, Triss, and countless others. Martin, wise as he had grown, knew that this was not a vision of the past; rather it was a vision of the future. Standing out in front of all the others was a mouse. He was small, much as Martin had been in younger days, and wore a habit much too large for him and shoes that did not fit. But there was an air of familiarity to the mouse. Something that connected Martin's soul to his. He was a warrior. The mouse smiled and drew from the sheath on his side the sword of Martin's ancestors. One by one, the sword was passed from warrior to warrior, each who held it as though it were meant for them, and each who smiled at Martin as they passed it on to the next. Finally, it ended back at the mouse with the overlarge habit. Martin understood as he watched this mirror image of himself sheath the sword back in its black scabbard.  
  
"Matthias." he whispered.  
  
The mouse nodded replying, "I am that is."  
  
As quickly as they had been there, they were gone. Everybeast. Leaving Martin alone again in the empty hall with only a cold, stone wall for company. Looking up at the wall, Martin again felt a vision clouding his mind. He saw a great tapestry, built little by little by generations of creatures. Each adding their own version of Redwall's history to it. And there, standing out like a beacon of light, was the woven piece of Martin himself.  
  
So, the warrior mouse thought, this is what Columbine's tapestry would look like. He laughed inwardly, thinking of the many times he had seen and heard Abbess Germaine and Gonff's wife planning and plotting the creation of what they would call the "pride of Redwall". With a sigh, he felt his heart drop. She too was gone. Columbine. Nearly all of those he had known for many seasons had passed through the gates of the Dark Forest, leaving him alone.  
  
No. Not alone. He still had Bella. After all, a badger's lifespan was indeed great. He would have Bella until his dying day.  
  
With the difficulty that comes with age, Martin made his way up the dormitory steps to the small room he called his own. Tired and worn from the hot day, the once-powerful warrior sat down at his desk and began to scribble a poem on a piece of parchment. It began with "I-am that is."  
  
Perhaps he would talk to Skipper about having it carved into the stones of Redwall one day for some curious mouse to find. 


	3. The Mouse and Maid

Chapter Three:  
  
Sorsha was a small mouse, even for her age. Barely a season out of Dibbunhood, she was quiet and rarely got into mischief. She loved Redwall Abbey and its dwellers, but often found herself in need of seclusion. It was during one of those moments that the maid found herself walking into Great Hall where the only other creature was the old one called Martin.  
  
Glad to be in the cool shade after such a hot summer day, Sorsha leaned against the cold, rose-colored stones and smiled fondly at the old warrior. He was always so kind to her. He played childish games with her when she was a dibbun and instructed her in the use of a stave as a weapon should the need ever arise that she would have to defend herself or some smaller creature. He was far older than she, but treated her as though they were equal. Never knowing her father, the young mousemaid always hoped that he was like Martin.  
  
The warrior was standing in front of the red walls, his paw dead center with one of the stones, staring as if seeing something that was not there.  
  
Without warning, the old mouse fell into a fit of coughing and dropped to the ground.  
  
"Martin!!!" Sorsha called, rushing to the elder's side. Small as she was, Sorsha found the strength to sit Martin up against the wall. His body, frailer and older than ever, shook with the effort of breathing.  
  
"Let me take you to your room, sir. You just need to rest awhile." The maid encouraged, her voice shaking with worry.  
  
Smiling warmly at the girl, Martin shook his head, "Nay, child. Here is as good a place to rest as any."  
  
"Then you stay here, and I'll go get Sister Samantha. She'll know what to do." Sorsha said, her paw gripping Martin's. But, Martin's feeble paw refused to release the young one's when she tried to stand up.  
  
"No, please, stay with me. I am so tired." he whispered, his vision beginning to dim, "How did I get so old, Sorsha? I never used to feel like this."  
  
Ignoring his question, Sorsha felt panic edging it's way into her heart. Looking around Great Hall, she could see no one. She gave a quick shout, but knew none would hear it. Everyone was outside, enjoying the beautiful summer day. Tears began to course down her cheeks as she turned back to the dying mouse.  
  
"Please Martin. Let me go get someone. Anyone." she pleaded, her voice choked with the effort of holding back her panic and tears.  
  
"No, little one. It is too late for that." he replied, coughing weakly. Sorsha could feel his paw weakening in its grip. Determined, she gripped it even harder, as if to encourage him.  
  
"Don't leave me Martin. Please don't leave me." She cried helplessly. Soundlessly, she collapsed on top of him, weeping freely into his habit.  
  
Martin used his free paw to wipe the tears from her cheeks.  
  
"Do not cry for me, my Sorsha. I lived a full and happy life." he comforted, meeting his dark eyes with her blue ones.  
  
"You are like a father to me. I'm not ready for you to go yet." she sobbed.  
  
"Sweet Sorsha. You always were too kind."  
  
Martin looked away from Sorsha and stared into space, once again a vision of something only he could see filling his mind. Grinning, his eyes began to cloud over.  
  
"They're waiting for me. All of them. How beautiful she is." he smiled, his head falling back against the stone walls of his beloved Abbey. His eyes closed, never again to see the morning sun reflecting off the highest point of the bell tower. His lips curved upward, an eternal smile of contentment and happiness. And his paw, still held by Sorsha's, fell lifeless as he drifted away to answer the call of the Dark Forest.  
  
The little mousemaid sat there speechless, her quivering paw refusing to release his. Silence reigned in Great Hall until the child fell to weeping upon the still body of Martin the Warrior.  
  
And it wasn't for an hour, when the setting sun encouraged the Abbey dwellers to retire, that the maid was found, still weeping upon the still form of the one called Martin. 


End file.
